from bleached white sheets, the answers are found in my glove box

slapping silly the sinister grin of a thin man wearing a stubbly faced chin

if he knocks three times i may let him in

that’s you, i remember, casting sin

hooks layered and stinking of gin

those bubbly brained bonobos chasing a fin through fresh water

where do the lies begin?

or ignorance

they rinsed their mouths

hands kept dirty


connected to the obvious

i tried to wake him up

to admit more guilt

he kept digging

a sewer drain coffin was being built

dimensions only he could fit

let him situate himself


rubbing polyester against pine

splinters find their way underneath dirty nails

close the container

wave goodbye

he wasn’t well kempt

unwilling to accept

fate finds a way

of placing the winning bet

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